The ice looks like carved bone

And the sleds, school dinner trays

And the bodies, fragile

It seems impossible they do not fear death

 

The next man up to the line

Wears a helmet with a skull on it

As if we need a reminder

Of what lies beneath, brittle

 

He charges to the ground then flies

It is strange to see a person like this

Propelled, powerless, poised

Fearing or not fearing death

Still flying, regardless

 

 

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